


Filthy German Ways

by smothermeinrelish



Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Thoughts, Hamburg Era, Leather, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 03:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21349252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smothermeinrelish/pseuds/smothermeinrelish
Summary: Dirty boys, doing dirty things......
Relationships: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 5
Kudos: 79





	Filthy German Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Friends,
> 
> This is me procrastinating on my updates for Higher Education & Soiled Blackbirds. Anyway, enjoy the dirty smut! xoxoxo

The night of the visit to the jazz bar, their sweaty, pill infused bodies were raucous and loud with energy from the set they had finished. “We are going someplace new….” As Klaus led them out of the grotty hall, and into the glistening sidewalk of sin. Past the working girls on the corners whistling ‘come on’s’ in that guttural tongue. 

Eyes bulged with shock with the first encounter of two waif like boys locked in a sensual kiss appearing when the heavy club door opened. Keeping eyes forward, they focused on the stage where an incredibly beautiful woman was singing a French ballad, discovering later that night, the woman’s real name was Karl. 

Strong drinks filling their bloodstream, the night was odd and new. Klaus and Astrid had friends among the clientele, and soon the drag ‘queens’ and ‘kings’ were interesting company with excellent taste in music. The night was more fun than they had had in weeks, and surprisingly comfortable, when the goal of an end of night fuck was off the table. It was a refreshing change from the usual. The usual being endless drugs, beer and sex. 

God, the sex was constant, you didn’t even have to try anymore. Half the time, girls met you behind the stage for a quick knee trembler without even a word exchanged. After a few times, your piss started to burn, then off to the chemist for a cheap remedy that got you right as rain after a day, back to the grind, as it were. Seeing your mate’s bare ass bouncing around while a bird screamed in a foreign language, was normal at this point. It was also getting boring.

After that night at the jazz club it happened more. The teasing, the looks, even the touches had taken a turn of odd sorts. Ever since the events of that night had taken them to the odd side of the Reeperbahn, full of boyish girls and bird-ish boys, John was awakened in a way. Usually the one to be quick with a slur to degrade the queer nature of someone. Deep down the light had shown to him it was ok, here in Germany where no one knew them. It was alright to consider. 

Always teased for his ‘pretty’ face, it was only natural the spark of lust would be aimed to his best mate. Already close as could be to someone of the same sex, and they had pretty much seen and done everything together. Including those immature wanking sessions at Nigel’s house back home. As well as side by side shags in the cramped bunks of their pathetic quarters. Nothing was embarrassing or private in Hamburg. He too felt the eye-opening activity of that club. How different would it really feel? A blow job is a blow job, and all those other sorts of ideas that crept in after too many drinks of piss beer.

Paul was no fool, he saw the change in John in the weeks following the jazz club. Less aggressive with the talent when he was hungry for a shag. He was backing off almost, giving little excuses when the pull of the night would call. One evening in particular, after a rip roaring show where they screamed their throats raw. From the high of the performance, it was only natural to find some tail for the outlet. “Not tonight, goin’ for a kip.” Odd, since when did John choose sleep over snatch? The others ignoring their leader’s unorthodox approach to the night, taking off towards the strip club where Pete’s new girlfriend performed. Paul made up an excuse, “Shit, forgot I need to fix ma’ fretboard that split earlier.” George shook his head at his clumsy friend, “Well, don’t be long, ya’ owe me a few pints.” Assuring him he would catch up to them, he headed back into the bleak quarters of their temporary home.

Unsure of why he chose to follow John back, he let his gut instinct lead on. After weeks of the back and forth, what really was going on with them? Still the same John and Paul, but why did he feel a blush on his cheeks when their shoulder’s bumped on stage. Why did he catch himself staring longer after John cracked a raunchy joke? Silly really, they’d know each other so long, the pull of attraction wasn’t possible when they were two blokes. He’d be lying if he didn’t say seeing the queer couples out there didn’t flash into his mind. It looked easy in that setting, no questions, no guilt. He kind of liked the idea that he could be close as possible with John, without feeling it was wrong to want to touch him. Feel his hand on your thigh, or the way his hot breath brushed over your stubble when he spoke privately into your ear.

Christ, he was mad. It was the whole city doing this, the confused thoughts, the ideas that conjured up in his head. Madness would be the end of all of them, too much indulgence and not enough rest, what was the saying, “When in Rome?....” Well, Rome had fallen, and soon this place would be all over, and the sick moments of debauchery would be left behind when they headed back to Liverpool.

Torn from his mind’s sick justification, he heard the heavy breathing just down the hall. Moaned whispers echoing out over the paper-thin walls. It sounded like his name. The click of his heels slowed as he approached the door to their beds. Standing still outside, his confusion was real, was John crying? Perhaps he finally snapped, the trip had broken him. He tentatively tapped as he opened the door lightly. 

Inky dark filled the room, but not enough to hide the figure lying on the lower bunk, knees bent with hips stuttering at the intrusion. He didn’t try to cover his arousal, or the obviousness of the self-gratification. “Fuck, John, shit…um sorry.” Seriously feeling like a knob for thinking John was crying, it clicked within his brain, John was wanking to the thought of him, and now he had interrupted. 

Rather than turn to leave the moment, his gaze locked onto Johns, lusty haze that filled them as his languid movements continued in his lap. Biting his lower lip, he bore into Paul, keeping the eye contact he let a gasp escape from his mouth. Unable to look away, the tremble in his knee caps signaling nerves, Paul froze on the spot.

The smooth motion of his hand, John was using teasingly, challenging. Lowering a leg, he opened his thighs, propping his arm behind his head to get a better view of Paul. Now, the game had begun. Aside from his tight black t-shirt, he was bare, slightly glistening from sweat and reflection of the hot pink neon blaring through the solitary window, shining a beacon. A tremor came over him, prick stirring in his own sticky, leathers. 

Flush began in his cheeks, the temperature in the room felt muggy and thick with the stale air from the stink of boys. Paul shrugged his heavy jacket off his tense shoulders, trying to be as casual as possible. John just kept stroking, slow tugs, rubbing his thumb over the glistening head, all the while focusing. Waiting for Paul to join him on the bed, at least that’s what Paul had wanted. His brain hot and fuzzy, days without sleep throwing caution to the wind as he took one stride in his loud cowboy boots to the bed.

Keeping his hard dick in his hand, John looked up to the man standing before him, waiting. The rugged breath and his heart hammering in his thorax closed off the sound of logic. Licking his lips, John let out a moan as he studied the wettened plush mouth. God, the thought of what Paul’s lips would feel like on his prick… Lifting his shirt to expose the trail of dark hair leading to his cock, Paul began to unbutton the leather, squeaking under the tug of the zipper. 

Seeing what he was doing, John moved hesitantly slow, to give the man a moment. Up onto his knees, he swatted away Paul’s hands, taking over the task. His bouncing dick exposed, as he pulled the damp leather down, breathing the heat of Paul. Fuck, he needed to taste him, saliva pooled under his tongue as his palms stroked over the milky skin of his thin thighs. Paul lustfully stared, threading long fingers through the wrecked auburn strands of John’s head. 

Tilting his face to peer up, “Baby,” breathless he spoke, “Suck me off.” A demand, but more than that, it was surrender. They were doing this; the sin had crept in and there was so turning back. Tugging his hair harder, John moaned, pupils wide as he gazed at the wild look in Paul’s eyes.

Freeing from the tight confines, he pushed the pants lower, taking the y-fronts with them. Erect cock springing free to John’s level, he wanted to devour, worship it, his mouth already watered. Leaning in, he nosed the sensitive skin between his thigh, relishing the scent and warmth radiating. Resting his arms on the bunk above, his eyes hooded, watching John nuzzle his flesh. Taking his time to enjoy this, whatever it was. Adrenaline, prellies, sleep deprivation. In the morning they could think about the reason for this, for now, getting off was all that mattered.

A surge through him, John gripped the firm flesh of Paul’s ass, emitting a growl deep from the throat. He squeezed and slapped, watching his prick bounce with the contact. Whimpers from above, as John looked up to see a tightly wound Paul, eyes shut anticipating the sensation. 

“Paul.” Voice ragged, cutting through the thick air of the room, breaking open his eyes at the sound of his name. “Want you to watch me.” His legs buckled, fuck he wanted this, weeks of coy games done. He nodded, watching with eyes aglow. Licking a firm swipe, base to the leaking tip, he groaned out, throwing his head back to feel it all. Tingles of cool over the cut skin, dampened by smoky breath. Then an engulfing warmth, causing him to re-open and see the man below him. Pupils blown, challenging himself as he gagged thickly on the prick in his throat. 

Paul shuddered at the sensation. Breathing hard through his nose, he felt dizzy, sandy waves flowing towards his toes. Wet suction and spit spilled from his stretched lips, humming in pleasure while he devoured Paul.

It was too much, the tight coil in his gut winding tighter and tighter, climbing. Fingers clutching at the tattered quilt, not able to utter a word, he moaned louder. Hips thrusting into the filthy gob of his best mate, deeper. John looked gorgeous, tugging his own dick hastily while he enjoyed the taste of the dirty boy above him. The wave of climax shook through him harder than ever before, watching the creamy fluid drip from the full mouth of John, his hips stuttered once more, emitting a clunking gag from John.

Pulling out his still hard prick, he shakily pushed the cum drunk man onto the dirty mattress. Hands still working on his own dick, he crept fingers into the red lips, swiping the sticky mess onto his own fingers. Bringing them to his mouth as he lied down next to John, and John just watched as Paul tasted his own seed from his long, thin fingers. “Fuck” John whispered, watching through hooded eyes. They were so close now, the smell of sweat and seamen making them feel high.

Curling an arm behind the neck of John, Paul pulled him closer, tongue tracing the residue. Using the moment to open his mouth wider, tugging John’s lips to his, connecting the two. Slick and bitter, tongues wrestled hotly, bringing them completely together as one. Thinking how this was so unlike any experience he had ever had, Paul wanted more. Wanted to crawl into John’s skin.

He kissed harder, biting at his jaw, a hiss of pain emitted from John’s already wrecked voice. He didn’t care, he kept up his explorations. Pulling at the black cotton fabric, he needed flesh. Making his was further down the writhing body, needing its own release, John’s hand pulled away from his cock, guiding Paul to the throbbing prick.

Mouth scraping over each inch of the taunt skin of John’s chest and abdomen, he deeply inhaled the smell of the man. So raw, the sheen of sweat clinging to the pores, fuck he tasted like lust, leather and salt. He felt like rock n’ roll, wrong and dangerous, and God help him, he loved it. 

When the leaking cock entered his mouth, Paul was fully hard again, drunk on pheromones from the heady perfume of John’s manhood. Suckling deep and pulling hard, his lack of care and experience being the driving method to his feral urge to swallow John in all of his splendor. “Christ, Paul…..oh fuck.” Hips bucking wildly, he was gone in moments. Emptying himself into the plushy mouth of his best friend, was the greatest feeling he’d ever experienced. 

Holding on, letting the man ride out his pleasure, Paul watched. Tracing light circles over the thick thighs of the spent boy under his mouth. He watched the way his brows ebbed and flowed in a range of emotions. This was crazy, what they had just done in the filthy sheets, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. Not when John’s lopsided grin, and strong hands pulled his face up to meet his. 

They kissed leisurely, softer and less harsh than before. Now the deed was done, the rough moment of thrills behind them. All that’s left are two dirty boys, wrapped in sticky bedcovers, evidence of the burning urges that took over them. The city cast its spell, Rome had fallen, and the aftershocks pulled them closer than ever before.


End file.
